


Sweet Dreams

by doctorrsong



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorrsong/pseuds/doctorrsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin cannot understand Belle. In an effort to learn more about her, he slips into her dreams. What he finds is not what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams

Rumplestiltskin was silent as he sat as his wheel, the occasional squeak of the wood making him feel almost drowsy. His hands moved methodically, without thought, and allowed his mind to wander while he continued to be productive. It was the one diversion he allowed himself that helped him clear his head, and it was the only thing from his old life he hadn’t divorced himself of completely. He couldn’t stand to sit unoccupied when he had spent so much of his life struggling to survive. What was that saying about idle hands? His lips twitched unpleasantly.

Where spinning was generally something he did to calm his restless mind, he found that it did nothing to soothe him tonight. It only gave him opportunity to think on the woman he was keeping in his dungeon. He scowled.

The woman whose scent lingered, whose fleeting touches burned like fire, and whose voice tinkled through the empty castle, filling it with laughter whenever he managed to delight her. _Belle._ He shouldn’t take pleasure in watching her eyes crinkle at the corners, but he was helpless to deny that he was a slave to her smile and the way her face lit up when she caught sight of him. Never had he been bestowed with such a look, not even when he had been a man.  

Scowling, he stopped the wheel abruptly. He only admitted those thoughts to himself, and even then, he fought them tooth and nail. He stood, his body moving fluidly as he stalked around the wheel and left the room.

It was late, and he knew Belle would be sleeping, but he didn’t resist the pull that had him walking to her room—the dungeons—he corrected. He tried his best to be awful to her, and yet she still granted  him those smiles as though he had given her the softest bed to sleep upon. How could she be so kind when he was so cruel? He dug his nails into the palm of his hand and sighed as the slight pain helped clear his head.

Begrudgingly, he made the decision to move her from the dungeon in the next few days. He would have to find some form of excuse for it so that she didn’t think he was doing it just to be nice. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He had an image to maintain, a reputation to uphold, and she was already slipping through the cracks easily enough without him giving her more excuse to do so.

When he reached her door, he opened it with a thought. Where the door normally squealed on its hinges, it swung open silently for him tonight.

Standing in the doorway, Rumplestiltskin simply gazed at the woman curled up on the sad excuse for a bed he had provided her. How she was even sleeping was beyond him. She had a thin blanket tucked tightly around her, and her knees were curled up against her chest, making her a small, compact ball on the pallet.

He strode into the cell silently, crouching down at her side to study her face. She looked peaceful, and he frowned at her. She should be tossing and turning, unable to sleep and afraid for her life. Instead, she was breathing softly, her hand under her cheek and her lips parted. He licked his own suddenly dry lips and looked over his shoulder despite knowing that there was no one else in the castle. He didn’t feel guilty.

What were her dreams made of, that she could sleep so peacefully in a monster’s castle?

Before he could really think on it and convince himself not to, he brought his fingers to her temple. His body shivered as he slipped into her unconsciousness. He blinked when he found himself sitting at his wheel, his hands moving just as they always did. Belle was sitting near the fire, reading.

He didn’t take control of his body, knowing that if he did, that would cause him to integrate into her dream, forcing him to play it out until the very end. He didn’t know if he wanted that, wanting first to see which way her dream would head. Perhaps her betrothed would appear at the door and carve out his heart. He wasn’t particularly interested in feeling that.  

Why was she dreaming about him spinning? This was nothing special; it was simply a normal day. He looked down at himself, taking in the soft silk that he’d taken to wearing around the castle. The high-collared vest he normally wore was absent, and he felt oddly vulnerable without it.

He heard Belle shifting and watched her place a dark ribbon between the pages of her book. “You’re quite skilled with your hands, turning straw into gold,” she murmured, setting her book down. “But is there anything else you can do with your hands?”

If he had been in control of his body, his jaw would have dropped and his eyes would have bugged out of his head. As it was, he continued spinning, a slow smile curling his lips. “Would you like to find out?” he breathed, his voice nothing but a purr. He wouldn’t say that. Did she want him to say that? Belle watched him, biting her lip in the way that always made his heart stutter. That lip was _his_ to bite.

He stopped spinning and rose gracefully. His hands swept out in front of him as he sauntered over to her chair. She was watching him as she always did, but this time there was something different in her eyes, something hungry. He wanted to flee from that look. It made him itch and burn and want to touch her, but he couldn’t do that. Never could someone as pure and beautiful as Belle desire his touch.

His mind reeled as he bent and placed his hands on the arms of her chair. He was leaning in close to her, close enough to smell her enchanting scent, and he breathed her in deeply. “Well, dearie?” his voice purred, unbidden. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He was waiting for the turn in her dream, the moment a sword would stab him through the back, but it wasn’t coming. Instead, she was staring at him, her attention completely riveted. She whispered, “oh, please.”

His dreamself grinned gleefully and knelt in front of her, hands resting upon her thighs. She trembled at the simple touch, her chest heaving as she stared down at him. Keeping his eyes on hers, he reached down and began to drag her skirts up until he could get his hands under them. Her skin was heated as he drew calloused palms up her silky thighs, and her lips parted even while her hips squirmed.

“Rumple,” she whispered, her head falling back against the chair. “Please,” she said again.

“Please what, dearie?” he hummed darkly. The muscles in her thighs twitched as he pushed them apart. Her skirts still covered her, but he could feel the heat radiating from her core. He wondered how wet she would be. She wore nothing under her skirts, and it was a simple matter to slide a hand up higher and flick his fingers over slick flesh. She wasn’t wet; she was dripping for him. Before he knew what he was doing, he took control of his body, fully connecting with the version of him Belle had conjured. Her hips lifted and she whimpered, her legs spreading further.

Now that he could control his actions, it took him a moment to remember how to breathe. He was afraid of her rejection, but he forced himself to remember the image of him she had brought into her dream. She _wanted_ him, and she wanted him to touch her. Well, she was right about one thing. He did know how to work magic with his hands.  

Rumplestiltskin applied himself to the task, twisting his hand between her legs so that he could stroke along her heat. She made little breathy sighs with each stroke, and he wrapped his other arm around her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the chair. He loved the way she braced her bare feet on his thighs, bringing her that much closer to him.

Twisting his hand again, he slowly sunk his middle finger inside her, watching her face as he did. “Oh,” she gasped, pushing against his hand and squirming her hips. He pressed his palm to the little nub at the apex of her thighs and began to pump his digit inside her, feeling her inner muscles quivering around him. His palm was grinding against her clit and his cock strained against his trousers almost painfully.

He released her hip to reach his other hand between his own legs. He groaned as he rubbed himself through the leather, any form of friction welcome to his starved body. Dropping his head to rest it on her thigh, he watched the motion of his hand between her legs and slipped a second finger inside her. He could only see his forearm, but it didn’t detract from the eroticism of the quickening motion of his fingers thrusting within her.

Belle drove a hand into his hair, and he smiled as she clutched at him. Her breath was quickening with his motions, and he listened to the way her moans started to heighten. He had always wondered how she would sound at the peak of her pleasure, and he wasn’t disappointed when she really started to moan. He pressed the heel of his hand harder against his erection while doing the same to her clit, and she rewarded him with a cry. Her muscles clamped down on his thrusting fingers and she screamed as she climaxed.

He didn’t get to enjoy her pleasure, instead finding himself flat on his back in Belle’s cell as whimpers left the writhing woman on the bed. He leapt up to his feet and gripped her shoulders. “Belle?” he gasped, shaking her. “Belle? Are you alright?”

His heart faltered when he took in the flush on her cheeks and the cadence of her moans. “Oh, Rumple,” she whimpered, reaching up to grip his upper arms. He watched her hips moving uselessly under her blanket, likely seeking the hand he had pleased her with in her dream, being so thorough that he had brought her physical body to climax as well.

“I-I’m sorry,” he gasped, his voice almost a squeak. He hadn’t meant to invade her privacy. He didn’t—his apology was muffled by Belle’s hands hauling him down over her.

“Please,” she keened. “Oh, please touch me again, Rumple.”

Her hands came up to lock behind his neck, and he crawled onto her pallet hesitantly. She was squirming under him, her teeth digging into her lip as he stretched out over her. “Belle,” he whispered, burying his face in her neck. “You’re awake. This isn’t a dream.” His voice was shaking, but he needed her to know.

“I know,” she whined, her hips pushing up against his. He hissed when she wrapped a leg around his calves, spreading her to him and pressing him where he most wanted to be.

“What?” he gasped, trying to focus as she wriggled beneath him. The pressure of her against him was almost too much to bear. Her hands clenched in his hair and her nails scraping the back of his neck were driving him mad.

“Make me yours.”

He whimpered into her neck, trying to hang onto any shred of self-control, but when she dug her nails into his skin, he knew it was futile. “Belle, you can’t want this,” he panted, even as he reached between them to haul her dress up. It pooled around her hips and he shoved his hand between her legs. She was as wet as she had been in her dream and he clenched his teeth. She felt too good. He sank two fingers into her, wasting no time in curling them to stroke against that rough patch inside her that had her heel digging into his calf.

“I know what I want,” she breathed in his ear. Her breath was hot and it sent chills dancing down his spine. “You.”

“Belle,” he groaned, pushing his fingers inside her up to his knuckles. Her hips lifted off the bed at that, and he ground his own arousal against her thigh. She was so wet and hot. He wanted nothing more than to be buried inside her, sating both their need.

Pulling away from her, Rumplestiltskin ignored her protest as he sat back on his heels between her legs. His hands shook as he fumbled with the laces keeping his trousers together, but soon he was free. He settled himself back on top of her, shoving the leather down his hips, and this time she cradled him between both thighs. She made a soft noise, and he stiffened, pulling back enough to look at her face. Had she changed her mind?

“Your collar,” she said. “It was in my eye.”

He couldn’t help the relieved giggle that left him. With a flick of his wrist, the offending garment was gone, leaving him in just his silk, as he had been in her dream. She sighed, her arms coming around his shoulders and hugging him to her. He had to reach between them to position himself, and he was soon sliding into her. A low growl ripped itself from his throat as he tried to be gentle. Her hands were clenched in the material of his shirt, and he moved slowly until his pelvis was flush against hers.

“Are you alright?” he gritted, pressing his forehead against hers. She was so tight. He was going to go out of his mind if he didn’t start moving soon. He breathed deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring when he felt her twitching around him. She squirmed experimentally, and his eyes rolled back. “Belle,” he groaned. “Don’t—ah,” he gasped when she lifted her hips and dropped them. He slid out an inch or two and then back in with the motion, heat searing low in his belly.

“I’m fine, Rumple,” she moaned restlessly. “Now move.”

He obeyed her helplessly, mindlessly, his hips drawing back before pushing forward again. She was lifting to meet him with each push, and he slid his arm under her head, pillowing her as he buried his face in her neck. He kept his body pressed close to hers, unable to get enough of the way she moved.

Rumplestiltskin drank in her breathless cries, loving that he was the cause of them. He moved a bit harder on her when she wrapped her legs around his thighs. Her moans got louder, her nails starting to dig in, and he knew that they were both nearing what the body so desperately wanted. She raked her nails down his neck, down his back, stopping only to sink her nails into his arse and urge him on. It worked.

He moved hard on her, burying himself deeply each time he came back down, and his arm slid under her hips without missing a beat, angling her so that he could take her faster. The new angle had her whimpering in his ear. Her thighs were trembling against his hips, and he felt her starting to squirm, as if shying from his touch. Her body started to curl in on itself, but he knew that was only a precursor to what was coming.

She bucked under him as she peaked, her arms and legs clenching around him. He didn’t stop until he reached his own end, her cries urging him on faster. He stilled above her, his entire body shaking as pleasure overtook him.

When he came back to himself, she was running her fingers through his hair, gently smoothing the curls down. He stared down at her in wonder, not sure what to say now that they had joined so intimately. Had she really wanted him, or had she been so muddled after being torn out of her dream?

She tugged him down so that his nose was pressed against hers, and she looked like she was trying to hide a grin. Suddenly, he knew she knew what he was thinking. She always did. She knew, too, that her whispered words, “you’re my dream come true,” would melt him. And they did.


End file.
